


A Broken History

by Plaguetastic



Category: Hyper Light Drifter
Genre: Angst, Death, Gen, Play the Game First, Post-Canon, Spoilers, like major spoilers, play it and cry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-06-06 22:17:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6772492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plaguetastic/pseuds/Plaguetastic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a reason why the jackal god needed the Drifter in a safe location.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Panacea

The sword plunged into the Immortal Cell, causing cracks to form and burst open with the pink liquid that powered it. The Drifter wasn’t sure how or when he had climbed it, for only mere seconds ago he had been toppling the shadowy form of Judgement. Had that whole encounter been nothing more than an hallucination, like all the other appearances of the monster?

He didn’t have time to question it, however, as the Immortal Cell began to tremble violently, dying in an almost agonising manner. The whole chamber shook with it, the power escaping the cell hitting hard against the walls of the underground chasm. Rocks began to fall from the ceiling and crash against the structures and machinery as the whole area began to collapse. In the process, the Drifter fell from the cell, fortunately hitting the platform instead of disappearing down into the abyss below.

Much to the Drifter’s dismay, it seemed that it would have made no difference, as he was immediately coughing, choking on his own blood. Deep down, he had realised long ago that destroying the cell would not have cured his illness. He was destined to die right from the beginning, when Judgement first infected him with its taint, and the only reason he had lived so unnaturally long was because of the jackal god’s power. It would have been easier to accept that early, but with desperation, he had instead held onto the hope of a chance at life.

He brought a hand up to cover his mouth, only serving to stain his glove in his blood. The Drifter chose to ignore just how similar it looked to the pink liquid spewing from the Immortal Cell, and what that would mean if they were indeed the same substance. Images of his own kind growing in those tubes, alongside all the monsters he had fought in his travels, flashed through his mind. He forced them away, deciding this wasn’t the time for this. Then again, when would a better time come? The Drifter knew he was dying. There was no way out of this situation, and even though the idea of death terrified him, he could at least be happy in knowing that he had died a hero.

Just then, a glow from the corner of his peripheral vision caught his attention, and he didn’t need to look to know what it was. The haloed jackal approached, an odd urgency in its step, despite having no need to fear the dangers of the mortal world. White eyes met black, and an unspoken understanding passed between the two.

 _Come_ , the god spoke.

 _Why?_ The Drifter asked in return. He was thankful that no words needed to be spoken, as he was certain that he would not be able to get any out through the violent coughing.

_Why get up and leave? I am to die anyway, what does it matter where it happens?_

The jackal gave no response and turned to walk out the chamber, knowing that the Drifter would follow anyway. And follow he did, despite how his body screamed at him, despite how unbearably weak he felt. Perhaps it was that deep, primal urge to survive. Perhaps it was simply curiosity. The Drifter had no time to ponder his actions, as he could already feel the jackal’s hold on his life slipping away.

Standing caused another intense coughing fit as the pain in his chest continued to grow, like a knife twisting through his flesh. Each step had his boots dragging across the dusty floor, his body no longer having the energy to do something as simple as properly lifting his feet. The falling boulders did nothing to help his struggled journey. Some had come so close to crushing him in an instance. The Drifter almost wished they had, as the dust cloud they stirred up only worsened his cough, clogged lungs now filled with a mix of both blood and dust.

Even so, he remained determined, and continued to follow the shining beacon of light that was the jackal’s halo. He followed it out of the Immortal Cell’s chamber, and across the bridge that crossed the corpses of the scientists who sacrificed themselves to trap it. The Drifter figured that he would be joining them very shortly, as his vision slowly faded to black. He stumbled a bit, barely stopping himself from collapsing right there. His sprite was immediatley against his chest, doing its best to hold him up. It hadn't ceased its beeping during the whole walk, constantly demanding that the Drifter healed himself.

But he knew healing would do him no good now.

His mind became clouded as death began to overtake. The beastial totem statue stood ahead, strangely familiar. And then suddenly, he was on the shoreline, he could hear the water and the wind, the campfire crackled with a warm welcome. A small, logical voice told the Drifter that it was impossible for him to be here. He could still feel the dust in his lungs, and see the roof collapsing around him. He chose to ignore this voice, finding the fantasy of his favourite campsite much kinder than the reality of being buried underground.

The jackal sat on a nearby rock. It seemed like it was the end of the road for the Drifter, and he felt that even if the jackal wanted him to continue, he no longer had the physical strength to take another step. He leaned against the giant statue, before collapsing into a sitting position against it. His coughing grew weaker, and he struggled to breathe through the build-up of blood in his throat.

His sprite huddled up in his cloak, its beeping growing quieter as it began to realise the hopelessness. The Drifter didn't know if the small robot could feel emotions, but the idea helped him settle into death, thankful that he didn't have to be alone. He only wished all the drifters before him could have felt the same.

His eyes met briefly with the jackal's once again, and his mind was flooded with visions. He saw the departure of the god as the death of the Immortal Cell drained the last of its power. He saw the Wellspring above the city dissolve, he saw the war between the two entities end now that the corrupting influence of Judgement was eradicated. He was in an endless lake, and he saw the central city in the distance, ruined but with a hope to recover. He saw the four kingdoms, joining together to rebuild this broken world. The sky was clear and peaceful, and the Drifter felt a strange sense of serenity overcome him, despite the fact that the pain was still there. Yes, he was afraid of dying. But now he was ready.

And then he saw nothing.


	2. Zombie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only the dead can't feel pain.

_The Drifter was once again at the endless lake, a mere ghost above his own body. The city looked unchanged in the distance, but he saw the slightest glow of the Wellspring above it. An intermediate amount of time flashed before his eyes, and he watched as the Wellspring slowly recovered, growing once more in the glorious crown shape it held._

_An obelisk burst out of the water near to the Drifter, shooting up impossibly high in the sky. The doors slid open once it was done emerging, and the jackal inside stared at him. Somehow, it looked bigger and stronger than the Drifter remembered. It stalked towards him, halo shining brighter than ever. It placed a paw on the Drifter's corpse, and he suddenly felt heavy, falling to his knees. He felt himself being drawn into it, and with panic he tried to struggle._

_But there was nothing he could do, and he collapsed onto his body, before being absorbed into it. He was suffocating and felt paralysed, unable to control anything. Every attempt at movement achieved nothing but stress and exhaustion. Rippling pain shot through his being as if he were being torn apart into shreds._

He woke with a start, and was immediately choking on the dried blood in his throat. Confusion rapidly filled him. Was he dead? Faint images fluttered through his mind, disappearing before he could focus on them. Were they visions or memories? He couldn't tell. All that was left was the slightest hint of the colour pink and a strange feeling of sadness.

Another coughing fit, and he was spitting up the remaining blood and dust in his lungs. Slowly, his vision cleared, and he gazed around at his surroundings. Light filtered in from above, showing the collapsed laboratory. The whole chamber that once held the Immortal Cell had caved in, and so had the stairway back to the elevator. In fact, it seemed that the only area that wasn’t in complete ruin was around the jackal statue that the Drifter was rested against.

Was this why the god had lead him here? So that his body wouldn’t be crushed underneath the rubble? Even so, it didn’t make sense as to why he was still here. He had for sure felt himself die. Perhaps he was mistaken. His gaze fell down to his limp body, only for him to recoil in horror at what he saw.

Rotting, exposed muscles and bones were showing where his clothes had become worn down. Blood stains covered the floor around where his wounds had bled out, now dried and turning a horrible magenta colour. For a second, the Drifter wondered how he had kept his breathing so steady through the shock, before the thought was interrupted with the realisation that he wasn’t breathing at all. Panic began to set in, he couldn’t comprehend what was happening. It took him several minutes to calm himself and begin to think rationally again. Clearly, his initial idea had been correct, and he had indeed died and begun to decompose here. Thankfully, the Drifter could smell nothing, and instinctively brought a hand to his face to feel the damage, before deciding it was best to not know.

His hand dropped down to his side, only to fall on something cold and hard. The Drifter looked down, and was immediately filled with sorrow. By his side lay the dead, rusted corpse of his robotic companion. It must have stayed with him for a long time, before eventually succumbing to time and lack of power. Just how long had he been down here...? He brought the metallic body onto his lap and fought down tears. He would not leave his sprite here. It could be restored and reactivated, hopefully.

The Drifter slowly stood, thankful for the lack of feeling in his body, despite the rot. He looked around at the walls, then at the opening at the top, wondering how to get out. It was then that he noticed the jackal, perched on the edge of the opening. It gazed down at him, silently beckoning him to follow.

He gripped tighter onto his sprite, then drifted up onto a ledge on the wall. He almost stumbled right off again, barely grabbing the wall in time to stop himself. Somehow, he felt out-of-practice, even though it seemed like mere minutes ago he was chain-drifting around the feet of Judgement.

Another drift, and he had edged closer to the exit. He cautiously made his way along the walls, finding ledges higher and higher. It didn't take long until drifting once again came naturally to him, and he found himself finally climbing out of the cavern. The jackal waited patiently for him, confident in his ability to make it out safely. It approached slowly once the Drifter pulled himself up, and it sat in front of him.

The Drifter met its eyes, still confused about why he had been brought back. The jackal blinked, and he felt its power emanating into him. He watched in awe as the god restored his body, veins forming along his bones before being covered in muscle and tissue, and then topped with pale blue skin. And all of a sudden, feeling returned to his flesh, the cold bite of the wind washing over exposed skin. It surprised the Drifter just how grateful he was for this feeling, even though his stomach was painfully empty and his throat begged for water, because there was a new feeling- one that he had missed for years.

He could breathe.

No pain. No coughing.

Just plain, simple breathing.

He had never felt more alive.

The jackal gave a slight nod, seeming satisfied with its work. With that, it turned and began walking away. _Come_ , it said, before disappearing into the overgrowth. The Drifter took a moment to collect his bearings and figure out where he was. The area felt familiar, apart from the massive fissure that had opened since the cave-in, and he estimated that he was close to the central city, if only a tad south. Which meant that the jackal was heading in the direction of the city.

Doubt stopped the Drifter from following. Why did the jackal bring him back? He had completed his goal and saved the world so that everyone else could continue. There was nothing else for him here. He had feared death when it was forced upon him, but in hindsight it had perhaps been the best thing for him. What could he return to? He had no purpose anymore, no friends and no home of his own.

Something was missing. There was an emptiness in him that he couldn't pinpoint.

He looked down at the sprite he held cradled in his arms. At the very least, he could start by getting it repaired. After that, the Drifter supposed he would go back to being a drifter. There were still historical artifacts that needed to be discovered, and the knowledge the jackal god had granted him would certainly help him figure out the mysteries of the past. After all, that was what his life was even before being selected as a hero by the jackal. It had been the only choice he was given.

With his future decided, he made his way towards the city. The emptiness bugged him, but he tried his best to ignore it and tell himself that it would disappear once he was on track. For reasons he couldn’t understand, he felt that he was lying to himself.

The reason would become obvious very soon.

The city wasn’t too far away, but the journey took slightly longer as the Drifter stopped to gather food and water. He consumed the food undercooked, finding himself too close to starvation that he couldn’t wait for a properly cooked meal. After satisfying his body’s needs, he continued on his way, making sure to not leave his sprite behind. The first thing he noticed upon passing the ruined city walls was the expansions that had happened within. The central city had grown, or at least the part that was habitable. Clean paving had been put down, covering what had originally been deep holes in the ground, if the Drifter remembered correctly. A couple of new buildings had also been restored enough to house people. And there were indeed more people being housed. Unfamiliar faces crossed paths with the Drifter as he approached, and he almost felt threatened. He brought the mask further up his face, trying in futile to hide his blue skin. Some of the strangers gave him glares as soon as they noticed, but otherwise continued on their way.

He was thankful as he approached more familiar territory, and was quick to traverse up the white steps that lead towards the centre elevator. The guard that stood there stared at him, seeming shocked to see him. “Hey, it’s…. Y-you!” He stuttered, seeming embarrassed to not have caught the name of the hero had who disappeared into the underground. The Drifter stopped, not really sure how to handle this. He still didn’t know exactly how long it had been since he last appeared, but he was glad that it wasn’t so long that everyone he knew had passed on. “We all thought you had died!” The guard continued, seeking an explanation of some sort.

Unfortunately, the Drifter could not give one, and he looked away. _So had I_ , he thought. His eye caught something he didn’t remember, however, and he turned his attention to that. It looked like a statue that had been built over where the elevator had once been, which had most likely been put there as a safety measure as it had never returned to cover the opening to the underground. And…

_No…_

The Drifter approached the statue slowly, hands trembling. He ignored the guard as they spoke, and he ignored the various other people that had begun to approach. His eyes were glued to the statue.

It was tall, and crafted with care. There were two figures standing proudly on an inscribed stone tablet. One of the figures was himself, but that wasn’t what his attention was focused on. No, it was the other figure that had caused such a reaction in the Drifter, and had fired up such an immense feeling of grief that swallowed him whole.

Tears blurred his vision and his grip on his sprite tightened, hugging it as if to try bring himself comfort. He vaguely heard someone nearby say “Are you alright?”, but the voice was lost to him. He could do nothing to stop the wave of intense emotion, and he choked on his sobs, before fleeing from the concerned crowd that was gathering around him. Chain-drifting on its own was difficult enough, but doing it while his vision was obstructed was near impossible.

Even so, he had somehow managed to find his way to the only place he felt truly safe in this city. After slamming himself quite violently into the door, he managed to get it open, before secluding himself in the place he considered home. Instantly, the tears he tried to desperately keep in flooded out, soaking his face mask. The building looked unchanged, and somehow this only served to upset the Drifter even more. With as much care as he could manage in his grief-ridden state, he placed his dead robot on the desk, before making his way to the bedroom, wiping his eyes. He had intended to drop onto the bed, but turned towards the mirror instead. Of course he still had that cloak, resting upon his thin frame. It almost looked silly on him, and was clearly too big, but he had refused to ever take it off. He remembered clutching tight onto it whenever he slept. He remembered first putting it on, and of course he remembered when he took it.

His whole body shook with anguish. He remembered what had come before that. His closest friend- no, his only one, hopelessly coughing up his own blood, choking out his words whenever he could. He had told the Drifter of his past, his family, and his own grief. The Drifter had held him in his arms, begging for him to get up, to go back to the city so the doctor could help him. But he knew it was the end for him.

And so had the Guardian. _“I’m… so sorry, friend…”_

The Drifter let out a pained cry, no longer able to look at the pink cloak he wore, worn down by time and lack of care.

_“It seems my journey will end here… But I sincerely hope you can complete what I could not.”_

His hands curled into fists, before one slammed into the glass mirror, shattering it.

_“It was... Such a joy to spend time with you, Drifter… Thank you…”_

With a final wail of despair, the Drifter fell onto his knees. Fallen shards of glass cut into his knees, but the pain was nothing to him. His friend had died in his arms that day, and with him, a piece of the Drifter himself had died too.

He didn’t know how long he had been crying at the foot of the broken mirror, but there was only so much his body could take. He ached all over, completely exhausted, and out of tears. Slowly, he forced himself up, looking at the cracked mirror. A sense of guilt was added to his depression for damaging the property of his deceased friend. He forced himself away before he could start crying again and collapsed onto the bed, allowing sleep to finally claim him.


	3. Angel

_The Drifter didn’t know where he was, but he felt so happy and peaceful. He stared up at the sky, and ethereal colours and lights shifted. It was bright and warm, despite the lack of a sun, and the city he was in was pristine and stretched out as far as he could see in all directions. Even beyond the tall buildings and interlinking skybridges, the Drifter could see bright patterns in the sky, interlocking like circuitry. He recognised the shapes as the ones from the Wellspring._

_The Guardian was here too. He seemed happy, and he approached the Drifter. “My friend, you have finally come!” Arms were outstretched, and they pulled the smaller man in for a tight hug. The Drifter smiled under his mask and leaned in to the contact. “I am glad to see you again.” He added._

_“As am I.” The Drifter responded as he gazed up at his friend. The Guardian was speaking again, but the Drifter couldn’t make out what was being said. Words and colours blurred together, and the feeling of peacefulness faded away._

______________

It was a groggy awakening, and all the Drifter wanted was to go straight back to sleep. He kept his eyes closed, not ready to face reality already. He felt so incredibly drained, as if he had only rested for a few minutes. But he could hear the birds outside, and the people talking. It was a new morning, and the world was continuing whether or not the Drifter wanted to keep up.

It took several knocks at his door before he was forcing himself to get out of the bed. He vaguely remembered having a dream, but it was already lost to him. The emptiness in him was back. Another knock. Whoever was at the door was determined to see him, but the Drifter couldn’t bring himself to answer. His gaze fell to the glass shards on the floor. He stared at them, not wanting to look at the mirror, fearing what he would see. He found himself looking anyway.

He looked dishevelled, which didn’t surprise him. His clothes looked old, torn, and left unwashed for a long time. His eyes, black and empty, stung from excessive crying from the night before. The pink cape was still there. The Drifter trembled, sorrow quickly overtaking him again, and he turned his head away to try and control his emotions. He focused on the knocking that was yet again sounding from his door, and steadied his breathing.

Gradually, the threat of an emotional breakdown diminished, and the void filled in once more. Whoever was at the door finally gave up and left, much to the Drifter’s relief. Normally, he would have been very curious to see who it was, but now simply wasn’t a good time.

He glanced around at the building’s interior. It had clearly been empty for a long time, and dust had claimed everything. The Drifter could even see his own footprints on the floor. He sighed, the Guardian simply would not have allowed this. He had often spent most of his time away from here, frequently sleeping at campsites around the different regions, but always made time to clean up at least a little bit whenever he returned. It may have seemed like this building wasn’t much, nor was it very homely, but the Guardian insisted that home was home; and he loved it regardless.

The Drifter supposed that he would take care of his friend’s house. It was the least he could do, after everything the Guardian had done for him. Besides, he needed something to distract his mind from the idea of the lonely future he would no doubt be living from now on. He began by trying to find any cleaning utensils.

The Guardian wasn’t particularly messy with how he stored things in his home, but apparently he wasn’t very clear either. After a lengthy hunt, the Drifter finally found what he was looking for, stashed in a cabinet in the corner of the room. He was squeezed between some crates and various other things, and he couldn’t help but wonder how the Guardian managed to navigate this place in his bulky armour. The idea of the Guardian getting stuck almost made him chuckle, before he remembered that he would never see it happen, nor would he ever see his friend again.

With a shaky sigh and a heavy heart, he set on the task of cleaning, first of all brushing up the glass shards that he broke. After safely discarding the shards into an empty crate, he spent the next several hours mopping the floor and cleaning dust off the desks and shelves. It was nearing evening by the time the Drifter gave up, finding his progress satisfactory for the time being.

He looked at his rusted sprite, feeling guilty for leaving it there on the desk for so long. He had intended to have it repaired as soon as he returned to the city, but got... distracted. He brought the sprite close to his chest, sighing gently. He would have to go to the tech shop tomorrow, assuming he still had some gearbits left over to trade. For the time being, he supposed he would have to reactivate one of the other sprites to keep him company.

The Drifter had made sure to clean the sprites on the shelf, of course. The pink one, he had taken extra care of. He was thankful that these sprites remained undamaged, after being stored in a safe place unlike his own, which had been subject to the outside elements. He couldn't bring himself to take the pink sprite, as it brought back rather painful memories, so he instead took a more orange-coloured one and activated it. The slightest of smiles appeared under his mask as the sprite buzzed around, alive and seemingly happy. It gazed at him, beeping to acknowledge its owner, and waited obediently for instructions.

After giving it a pat on the head, the Drifter turned his attention to one of the windows. There was still some hours of daylight left, and he felt like he needed some fresh air after spending several hours breathing in dust. He had had enough of that already, and he felt a strange feeling overcome him as he recalled the moments just before his death. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the unsettling memories, and headed towards the door.

He welcomed the cold wind on his skin when he opened the door. He took a moment to breathe in deeply, still incredibly thankful that he could breathe at all, before finally stepping outside. He looked around. Some of the civilians glanced towards him, clearly still curious about his sudden arrival. The Drifter didn't want to deal with them. Although he had been staying here for a while, he had never really interacted much with them, apart from a polite greeting or a short conversation. He had spent most of his time rushing to gather the modules to eventually take on Judgement. He didn't know if he regretted this or not, as now he was left with what was essentially strangers to him, alone and without the only source of stability in his life.

He kept his head low and made his way through the ruined city. Nobody spoke a word to him, most likely still cautious about the Drifter's breakdown yesterday. He was relieved for this, and retreated out through the nearest exit. He wandered forward for several minutes, not travelling in any particular direction. The western forest that sat ahead had probably once been a beautiful and tranquil location, but the invasion of the crystals had stolen that feeling. The Drifter had been quite disturbed the first time he explored through there, and the image of trapped corpses of the previous inhabitants, forever posed in an unforgiving battle sent a shudder down his spine. Even still, he couldn't deny that he still felt perturbed about the idea of getting trapped in one of the crystals himself, so he chose to avoid going too deep into the forest.

Instead, he slumped against a nearby tree trunk and stared up at the sky. Here, he let his mind wander. His train of thought travelled first of all to the blueskins trapped in the forest, then to the ones growing in the southern labs. The memory still shocked and confused the Drifter. Why were his own kind in those tubes? Were they being experimented on?

Or was it truly what he knew deep down? That his entire species was nothing more than something grown in a lab? The Drifter sighed. In truth, he couldn’t remember much of his early life. He had been alone as long as he could remember, wandering from place to place. In fact, he could never remember ever being a child. Of course, the evidence pointed towards the fact that he had never been a child, but he still couldn’t believe it.

It took until sunset for him to notice the glow beside him. He turned his attention to the jackal. He was almost surprised to see the god still appearing to him, before realising that it probably still wanted something from him, since it had brought him back to life. He looked the jackal in the eyes, and he found himself suddenly recalling a name.

_Anubis._

The jackal nodded slowly, reading the Drifter’s mind before he had even formed the question in his thoughts. The Drifter’s brow furrowed, he was unsure what the god wanted him to do with this information. Was it an introduction? It seemed significantly too late for that, but the Drifter decided it was courteous to give a reply regardless.

_…I don’t really have a name. I’m just a drifter._

Another nod, and the jackal had turned and started walking away, long tail swishing behind it. The Drifter didn’t need to be asked to know that Anubis intended for him to follow. With a sigh, he stood and did exactly that, like he had so many times before. He did not glance backwards at the eerie forest, and instead watched the jackal with inquisitiveness.

_What do you want from me?_ He asked silently. He had assumed that once he had destroyed the Immortal Cell, his job would be done. To his frustration, the god gave no response, and the Drifter couldn’t help but feel like he was being left in the dark.

_Haven’t I done everything you wanted of me? What more could a god need of me?_ He tried to keep his thoughts free from irritation, unsure whether or not it would translate through his message. Anubis did not stop their trot, but their head turned to gaze at him, with a curious look in their eye.

_I am no god._

This revelation surprised the Drifter. If Anubis was not a god, then what could it possibly be? Hadn’t the ancient civilisations worshiped it? His pace had slowed as he processed this new information, and he had to jog to catch up again to the jackal. It watched him, eyes narrowing slightly in an almost humoured manner.

_Why must you assume I want something from you? I am merely correcting the errors of this mortal realm._

And with that, the jackal turned away and concentrated once more on leading the Drifter, finding its explanation satisfactory. The Drifter, however, did not.

_What do you mean? Correcting the errors…? What errors?_ Fascination welled up inside of the Drifter. He had always been one to love the mysterious of this world, and strived to solve them, so it was no wonder that what Anubis was saying would pique his interest. Unfortunately for the curious blueskin, it seemed the jackal would not be giving any clear answers.

_The balance of the Wellspring is still upset._

Somehow, the Drifter could sense a feeling of amusement through their telepathic bond. He was glad that he was not annoying the seemingly omnipotent being, and prepared a million more questions in his mind.

However, his thought process came to an abrupt end once he noticed where they were heading. They had been travelling parallel to the city walls, albeit some distance away to avoid detection, and were now entering the southern region. The Drifter found himself paralysed, his body no longer cooperating to move forward.

He knew why he was having this reaction, of course, but tried his best to swallow down the memories and lock away the intense emotion that was waging war within him to escape. Anubis continued on their path, towards the exact direction that the Drifter could not bring himself to visit. He had learned from experience that the jackal never waited for anyone, and it wasn’t long before it was out of sight, leaving the Drifter behind in the growing darkness of the night.

The Drifter’s knees trembled. Gritting his teeth, he steeled his resolve and decided that he’d have to face whatever was next. Surely Anubis had a good reason to bring him here and force out these painful memories. Slowly, he compelled his body to take a step, and then another. He swallowed hard, somehow finding such a simple act difficult to do since his throat felt so tight.

He wasn’t even consciously aware of how he clung onto the Guardian’s cape as he progressed southward bound. Or how his claws ran through the tufts of fur around the rim, clogged with dirt and dust, yet somehow still soft. Or even how he focused on the very scent of it, trying in vain to bring himself comfort by imagining that his friend was still physically here with him. The ground underneath his feet slowly became dusty and dead as he approached the bridge signalling the territorial divide between the southern and central regions.

Anubis was sat in the middle of it, patiently staring at him. Once the Drifter took a step on the rickety structure, the jackal turned and crossed the ravine, eager to continue their journey. The Drifter continued to follow, despite how his willpower to do so was quickly vanishing. Even when it had evaporated completely, and he wanted nothing more than to return home, he found himself continuing anyway, like an empty shell of a being following its own footsteps out of habit.

It was only when his eyes rested upon the hunched form of his deceased friend that his emotions finally took over once more. Tears invaded his eyes and his whole body shook with sudden, unrestrained sobs. Anubis sat beside the Guardian’s skeleton and silently beckoned him to approach. The Drifter slowly edged his way around to face the Guardian head on, claws digging helplessly into the cape he wore. Out here, where nobody could see the Drifter’s weakness, he allowed himself to openly weep and mourn the loss of the only person who had changed his life.

Anubis watched him, and while it was respectful of his emotions, the Drifter could sense that it couldn’t understand why he was having such a reaction. Never before in his life had the Drifter felt so broken and alone, and with a cry of grief, he collapsed onto all fours, unable to hold back the choked wails of grief. Tears fell and soaked the dry ground below him as he couldn’t bring himself to look once more at the skeletal corpse of his friend.

It was then that he felt the presence of the jackal’s power growing stronger, and only then did he force another glance. He watched through a blurred vision as the corpse’s clothing began to fill out once more as the body was rejuvenated underneath. Staring with a mix of awe and horror, he saw flesh travel across the skull of his companion, similar to how he had watched his own flesh grow after his own resurrection. Brilliant blue eyes opened and stared back at him, before narrowing slightly in confusion.

The Guardian barely managed to get one syllable out before the Drifter had thrown himself at him, wrapping his arms around his neck and howling in an overwhelming sense of exultation. He didn’t care that he was still crying intensely, soaking the Guardian’s clothes in his tears. Nor did he care that he could still feel flesh grow and move unnaturally underneath, even though it almost made his stomach turn. The Guardian, bewildered and disorientated, slowly brought his arms up and wrapped them around the smaller man in an attempt to comfort him. He tried to think of something to say, but he still had no idea what was happening, so instead patted him weakly on the back.

The Drifter didn't even care about the poor display of support, or even about the fact that the Guardian had left him to mourn, broken and crying himself to sleep every night. He had already forgiven his dear friend for all the pain he had caused him.

Because he had returned.

He was finally, truly back and here with him once more.

And the Drifter continued to wail and cry, but this time he had never felt so overjoyed before in his life.


	4. Almost Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's still a lot of work for the Drifter to do, and many mysteries to uncover, but first both him and the Guardian need to adapt to their new situation.

_Here, in the pristine and unnaturally white city, the drifters were allowed to roam free, without pain or fear. The Drifter couldn’t tell how long he had been here, nor could he tell if time as a concept still existed, but he had seen many different drifters that somehow felt familiar to him, even if he didn’t recognise their faces. No, it wasn’t their faces, it was the cloaks he recognised. Orange, blue, white…_

_Most of the time, they drifted by in a haze, in a never ending search for answers, or was it the end they were searching for? The Drifter didn’t know, as barely any of them every exchanged words. The Guardian had tried to, he had called out to them, and even attempted to follow them at some point, but it was like they existed on a different realm, unable to interact with anyone or anything._

_The only one that had spoken to them, an otter dressed in all white, had only exchanged a few words of greeting before turning and dashing away all of a sudden._

_In a way, the Drifter didn’t mind. The Guardian was here with him still, and still very much conscious. That was all that mattered to him._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Drifter must have eventually fallen asleep in the Guardian’s arms, as he found himself waking all of a sudden to a bright morning. Once again, his mind itched with the sensation that he was forgetting something important, but he simply couldn’t recall it no matter how hard he tried. Glaring slightly, eyes still sensitive from excessive crying, he took a moment to look around. He noticed that he was in a different location from where he had passed out, and a smouldering campfire was sat at his feet. He saw the bridge connecting the two regions in the distance. He figured that the Guardian must have carried him to a more suitable camp location after he had passed out from exhaustion.

Speaking of the Guardian, the Drifter sensed that he was lying beside him. They were both leaning shoulder-to-shoulder against a cliffside that protected them against the harsh winds of the south. The Drifter had noticed the soft, even breathing of his companion, very unlike the raspy breathing he had grown used to. He could not contain the smile from beneath his mask, his friend was truly alive and cured! That void that had filled him was vanishing, replaced by the bright glow and warmth of someone who finally had a chance at a happy life again. Yet, he still felt like something was… missing. What could it possibly be? The Drifter pondered, but nothing came to mind as to what was bothering him still. Yes, there was the issue about the history of his race, but there was something more…

He sighed, ending his train of thought there before it made him stressed out. For now, he could simply enjoy the positive future that lay ahead of him. With the Guardian by his side, he felt like he could accomplish anything. He could return to the city and begin a new life and become part of the community, like the Guardian had been before his death.

He remembered the first time he had met him. He was the only person who didn’t glare at him and show aggression towards him simply because of his race. It was because of him that the residents of the central city had slowly grown to accept his presence.

His mind suddenly jumped back to when he had first been brought back to life by Anubis, and just how hungry he had felt. He had felt like he was so famished that he would have collapsed and died from starvation at any minute. He gave his sleeping companion a panicked glance. Had he eaten or drunk at all since his revival? What if starved to death in his sleep?! In an instance, the Drifter was up. He couldn’t let his friend die again! All that was left in the campsite was a pink blur as the Drifter chain-dashed away.

It didn’t take long at all to find food, the wildlife in the forest had seemed to have grown since the Drifter had died. He wondered if this was because the world had been freed from Judgement’s disease as his sword sliced through the flesh of some woodland creature. Once it had been dragged back to the camp, the Drifter checked his waterskin and was glad to see that he had some spare from yesterday. He shook the Guardian awake, not wanting to risk wasting a single moment.

“W-what? What is it?” The Guardian huffed, startled awake as his hand was instinctively drawn to the hilt of his sword. After glancing around the area and sensing no threat, he relaxed, and his gaze settled upon the corpse of the woodland animal. “Oh, you brought food?” He chuckles softly, seeming relieved. “Thank you.” He sits up and reaches for his knife to begin carving the skin from the meat. “Could you get the fire started up again, please?” He asked.

The Drifter nodded, a tad surprised that he had not eaten the creature raw as he had when he first woke. Perhaps he did have something to eat whilst Drifter had been asleep and wasn’t on the verge of death? Feeling the adrenaline drain from him, the Drifter gathered some fresh sticks and leaves to put on the fire and worked on setting a flame ablaze. After only a minute of rubbing some sticks together, the Guardian spoke again.

“You did it, didn’t you? You defeated Judgement?” He asks, although the answer was already clear to him from his clear, healthy lungs. The Drifter pauses, recalling the stressful battle he had undertaken moments before his death, and gave a curt nod. He flinched in surprise when the Guardian lets out a loud, bellowing laugh. “Of course you did! I knew you could! You’re a hero, Drifter!” He praised, his laugh as genuine and happy as could be. The Drifter stared at his companion, unable to stop the tears welling in his eyes. Oh, how he had missed that sound. And how beautiful it was, when not interrupted by coughing or harsh gasping!

The fire was left abandoned and unlit as the Drifter’s arms were flung around the Guardian’s neck. The pink drifter was surprised, but overjoyed nonetheless, and more than happy to return his companion’s embrace. “You saved everyone, Drifter! The whole world is in your debt.” He says.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Guardian…”

Sobs gently rock the Drifter’s small body, but these are sobs of joy, a welcome change to the anguish of the past two nights. The Guardian gently pats his back to soothe him. “Come, let’s eat, shall we? Then we can return home.” The Drifter pulls away and nods while he wipes away his tears. The fire is lit, and chunks of meat are cooked over the fire, before quickly being devoured by the two hungry drifters. They chat amongst each other between bites, about how good it feels to breathe without trouble, about the fight with Judgement, and about their future. The conversation, as always, is mostly led by the Guardian, but neither party seems to mind. The Drifter is silently overjoyed to simply be able to hear his voice again, and nothing would please him more than to hear him talk forever, uninterrupted.

Just as the last bite is being swallowed, the Guardian makes a passing comment; “You’re a quiet as always, eh Drifter?” A smile, one that can only be seen in his beautiful blue eyes. “That’s fine. And, ah- …I’m sorry about the ‘false alarm’. I hope I didn’t cause you too much anguish.” He says as he stands, ready to make the journey home. The Drifter frowns slightly, confused. What did he mean by that? He stands too to follow the Guardian as he walked towards the city. It only hit him after they had been walking for a few minutes- the Guardian hadn’t realised he had actually died! He must have thought he had simply passed out. Had he really been so disorientated after revival that he didn’t notice his own body regenerating?

Of course, the Drifter remembered the moments after he had first awoken from death, and how confused he had been for several minutes afterwards. He couldn’t blame his friend for assuming that he hadn’t died. Who would? He chewed on his bottom lip slightly, brow furrowed in thought. He knew this was a pretty vital thing for somebody to know, but it felt awkward to suddenly bring up the subject after it had already been dropped. And besides, how would he even go about it? How do you tell someone that they’ve been dead for an indeterminate amount of time?

The Drifter sighed softly, he knew he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to say it, even though he knew it was important. It took a lot out of him just to respond to anyone at all, there was no chance he’d have it in him to deliver news like this. How would his friend even react to that? Would he think he’s gone crazy? Would he panic? Or would he turn aggressive? The Drifter told himself that the Guardian wasn’t like that, and that he’d never express violence towards him, but a voice deep inside him warned that there was no way to know, and it was not worth the risk. Besides, the Guardian would be sure to find out on his own very shortly.

As his mind raced, the two drifters continued to walk in silence. The Guardian was blissfully unaware of the internal stress that plagued the Drifter, he was too busy revelling in breathing in the fresh air and enjoying how alive and healthy his lungs felt. Once the central city came into view, with the Wellspring hanging above it with its mystical, unearthly glow, the Guardian spoke once more, gazing down at his companion. “Look, Drifter. We’re almost there. We’re almost home.” He smiles, his voice soft and warm, and the Drifter could only smile back. Every time he stared into the Guardian’s eyes, he felt his worries begin to melt away.

It only just occurred to him that this wasn’t normal. Yes, after developing a friendship with the Guardian, the Drifter had naturally felt safer around him, but that was only because they were able to protect each other if they were under attack. The Drifter couldn’t place what had changed, or when for that matter. _How can a relationship change when both parties are dead…?_

As soon as the two of them entered the central city, the reception was vastly different to what the Drifter had initially experienced two days ago. The unrecognised faces from before were surrounding them as soon as they were noticed. A fight-or-flight response kicked up inside Drifter, and the Guardian did seem a bit surprised at all the new faces who were now exclaiming and welcoming the two of them into central. “I can’t believe it! You’re the two heroes on the statue, right?” One voice cried.

“Aren’t you the ones who saved the world?” Another, from a young reptile.

“How did you come back?!”

“What happened? Please, you must tell us!”

A myriad of voices were talking over one another, seeking information and confirmation. The strangers were more excited and joyful than aggressive than Drifter had originally thought, but it didn’t quell his fears in the slightest. He was very quickly feeling overwhelmed by all the unwanted attention. Thankfully, the Guardian was much more used to this and responded as he always did, by laughing joyously and striking a proud pose, hands on his hips. “Everyone, your attention is appreciated, but my friend here would prefer his space!” He said, and suddenly all eyes were on the small blueskin. Thankfully, it only lasted a mere moment, as the strangers were quick to nod respectfully and take a few steps back, allowing the Drifter to breathe again.

The commotion attracted more attention from civilians in the main square, and the crowd continued to grow as the Guardian explained, “Judgement has indeed been defeated, and it’s all thanks to the Drifter. He did most of the work.” He chuckled, but it was slower than usual, forced almost. The Guardian was not an oblivious man, he could see the unfamiliar rebuilt structures that surrounded them, he could see a lot of faces he didn’t recognise, and this mention of a statue he was hearing about? There was a disconnection between what he thought he knew and what he was seeing.

As the Drifter glanced around at the crowd, he noticed some friendly faces. A swordsmaster otter, the techie avian, a mechanoid with a cigar, and several others. All people that the Drifter had spoken to, even exchanged goods and information with some of them, but he didn’t know any of their names. Names are a commodity in this place.

Once the Guardian had noticed them, he approached and greeted them with a polite hand gesture. The Swordmaster shared a concerned glance towards the Drifter, he had witnessed his breakdown and he was no doubt cautious to try and avoid that happening again. He chose to speak to the Guardian, pretending that the Drifter wasn’t even there. He felt that the blueskin would appreciate that more than his concern.

“Guardian, my friend, where have you been? What happened?” He asked his voice only slightly less monotonous than usual.

“I was in the Barren Hills. I passed out, I think, but I’ve no idea for how long.” He replies.

Everyone went silent. The Guardian frowned, sensing something was off. The Drifter shifted, highly uncomfortable.

“What… Is there something that I haven’t been told?” The Guardian questioned, the words slow and steady.

“Guardian… You’ve both been missing for several years…” The Swordmaster mumbled, bewildered. The crowd glanced around and murmured amongst themselves, and the Guardian turned to face the Drifter, expecting an explanation of some sort.

“What do you mean? That’s impossible… Drifter? W-… _Hey!_ ”

The Drifter didn’t wait for him to finish. In a blur, he was gone, shoving past the people in the crowd and fleeing to his- to the Guardian’s house. As soon as the Guardian had looked at him with that expression of utter shock, the Drifter just couldn’t stand the pressure any longer. He should have told him the truth, instead of making the Guardian find out on his own like this, but he was barely able to comprehend this situation himself.

He was thankful at least that the sprite he brought with him was here to open the door for him, so he didn’t have to nearly tear his claws off prying it open again. Once he was indoors and out of sight, he allowed himself to exhale slowly and calm himself down. He sat on the bed and let his head fall into his hands. Why did he always have to be so bad at handling any social situation?

It was only a few minutes later when the Guardian entered. “Drifter? Are you in here?” He called out as he glanced around, before his brilliant blue gaze settled on the hunched, unmoving form on the bed. He approached slowly, and the Drifter raised his head to look at him, giving him a sheepish and apologetic look. The Guardian sat by his side, arms resting limply on his thighs.

“Drifter. What happened when I passed out?” He asked. His voice was stern, and it made the Drifter tense up, feeling like he was being scolded. He tried to reply, but his throat seized up, words stuck in his lungs still.

The Guardian sighed and tried again, asking more gently this time. “It’s alright. Please, tell me what happened. Everyone thought we died.” He says.

The Drifter fidgeted. “We… did…” He forced out. The Guardian was silent and didn’t move, and the Drifter was quickly growing terrified. “A-after you-…” His voice trembles, and he skips over some words. “…I went to fight Judgement. And then I died, too… I couldn’t cure either of us.” He mewled.

He felt movement to his side, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at his companion. The Guardian rested his head in his hands, trying to comprehend the situation. He knew it was true, of course, nothing else made sense, but it was still nearly impossible to wrap his head around it.

“Anubis brought us back, didn’t they?” He mumbled, and the Drifter could only nod. He was partially certain that the Guardian had not even seen the action, but apparently he didn’t need any reaffirmation, and the two of them sat in silence on the bed for an indeterminate amount of time.

Similar to Drifter’s first night after revival, a knock at the door dragged him out of his thoughts and grounded him in the real world once more. The two drifters shared a brief look, before the Guardian stood to answer it, with the Drifter hanging close behind out of curiosity. The heavy door slid open, and there stood a young cloaked figure, seeming to be a young teen in age, and they just barely reached half the height of the Drifter. They looked up them both and beamed. “I’m so happy you’re both back! You’re my heroes!” They gave them a toothy grin, and the Guardian began speaking to him, no doubt graciously thanking him, but the Drifter had tuned him out. The teen’s use of plural had struck something in the Drifter; he had been considered many things before in his life. A brute. A savage, a murderer… And then a Drifter. But never a hero. Several seconds later of staring at the teen, and it finally registered in his mind that this used to be the child he had played soccer with, what would have been many years ago to them. A range of emotions struck, and the Drifter recoiled, not knowing how to react to this.

He was almost thankful when the conversation ended and the teen finally left, after waving at both of them and giving each of them a cheerful grin. Yet, at the same time, he felt lost. He felt like he had missed several years of relationship building with the people in his life, and that it would take even longer just to rebuild what little he had. He couldn’t even imagine how the Guardian must be feeling, as he had been much closer to them than the Drifter had been.

He felt numb, and he wasn’t able to shake off that feeling for the rest of the day. The Guardian had tried to engage with him, but the attempts were weak, and the Drifter felt that his companion was perhaps dealing with an internal turmoil just as he was. At some point, someone else had come to the door, asking for them both to join them for some sort of celebration. The Drifter, of course, refused. Instead, he turned and headed straight for the bed, before heavily collapsing face first into it. He vaguely heard the Guardian speaking as he walked away, was it something about the teenager? He didn’t register it, and instead let sleep slowly overtake him. Through the thin slits of his closing eyelids he saw something change in the Guardian’s expression, but he didn’t have time to try understanding it before his eyes shut, and his consciousness faded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I can't believe I decided to start up this project again all of a sudden. I didn't intend to, but here it is anyway, so...  
> Hope you all enjoy it! <3


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